The Consequences Of Custard Cream
by The Moonlight's Marionette
Summary: Sequel to Death by Chocolate. Ukitake/Hitsugaya. Toushirou wonders why he ever took those sweets now that the sugar rush has subsided.


***Nervous laugh* Well here it is. The dreaded sequel. *bites nails* Hope you guys like it. I usually like to leave things intended as one-shots to be just that but I got his idea so meh ;D. It's a little different from the first. Kay~ Tell me what you think. Reviews make my day. Third installment coming.**

  
It is spring.

He feels it, like a presence.

The suffocating aroma of newly blooming flowers and sprouting grass. The abundance of seasonal insects; butterflies, dragonflies, and at night, crickets and whistling toads.

The stifling air; crisp with spring but laden with the heat of approaching summer.

And of course, the highlight of spring; cherry blossoms in full bloom.

He avoids them and their pinkness at all costs, which is why he is now sitting crossed legged under a large oak.

That is the only reason he is under it.

Not because under these branches is where he experienced his first kiss. Because it isn't.

It never happened.

The fact that his mind will not allow him to acknowledge it proves that it is false.

He certainly doesn't roam around all day to find his way under the shade of this one tree reliving the night in his mind, because it isn't real.

The feelings aren't real.

The petal soft lips that are swimming against his in his memories are but distant dreams that he can't seem to discard.

He tries though.

He tries with all the strength in him to bury them, cast them away.

Their resilience doesn't speak of their strength, but rather his lack of, because they won't go away.

Stubborn things.

Much like him.

But at least he makes it a point to pay as much attention to Ukitake as the dirt beneath his sandals.

He refuses to look at him.

In the Captains meetings, the captain commander is all his eyes will see. He ignores the eyes that watch him unwaveringly.

He avoids where he knows the older man is, could be, and will be.

He passes him coldly.

He can't risk the chance of running into him alone so he makes sure that he never is.

He can't bare those sad eyes that try to get his attention and then lower in defeat.

It is not his fault.

The grass beneath his fingers sways lightly. He opens his palm facing downwards so that it brushes beneath the inside of his hand.

It feels nice.

And familiar.

Like… hair.

Long, white hair, falling over and tickling his skin.

He balls his hand into a fist and stands.

With small but determined strides that take forever and yet get him there in the blink of eye, he is within the 13th squad.

Ukitake is yet again feeling un-well, so he hears, and is resting. The anxiety of hearing that news is pushed aside with his hesitation as he pads quietly to the man's personal quarters.

He stops by the door, but not out of respect. The fear that grips him like a vice roots him to the spot.

Frail.

He looks so frail and… and… fragile.

Lying in his futon.

His eyes are closed.

Is he asleep?

This is the first time that he's seeing the man while he is bed- ridden and he has to admit, it is something he'd rather not see.

His hand grips the frame so tightly, it hurts. He turns around intent leaving when a voice stops him.

"Toushi?" Ukitake calls softly. His eyes are still closed.

"Hmph."

Does he really think that sad dip in his voice will work on him?

Toushirou scowls but sits politely and folds his arms.

He says nothing.

After a few seconds in silence, Ukitake slowly opens his eyes. The movement looks painful, but he manages a smile that isn't completely a grimace.

Toushirou's indifferent mask is firmly in place but he can feel it slipping.

"You came to see me, Toushi," he says rather than asks softly with a knowing smile.

Toushirou looks away. "I just happened to be on my way somewhere, and please stop with that ridiculous name."

"You don't like it?"

"No," he is quick to coldly point out.

Ukitake looks hurt, but it is impossible to determine why.

Toushirou pretends he doesn't see, but he feels noticeably uncomfortable. The man is staring.

"How are you feeling?"  
_  
Stupid? Useless? Ridiculous?  
_  
"I should be asking that," he replies calmly.

Toushirou notices too late that his body is shaking.

Badly.

As far as he can tell, he isn't afraid.

He isn't nervous.

So why…

"In any case, I'm glad you came," Ukitake says serenely and slowly reaches a long finger to touch his arm.

Toushirou's heart leaps to his throat and he recoils without thinking.

It is too late to take it back, and the complete look of pain in Ukitake's eyes threatens to kill him.

He stands hastily, trying to control his breathing.

"I should go."

Ukitake offers him a resigned if not sad smile, which only serves to drive the steak deeper.

He can't look any longer.

He escapes.

Back to the safety of his office, the work that needs to be done, his fukutaichou.

Everything he is used to.

He feels relieved, to be out of that situation and to be alone.

Alone but not lonely.

No.

Never lonely.

Peaceful solitude.

A recluse by nature.

He values it.

Always has.

So why does his office feel so small?

Why is his hand shaking every time he reaches for one of the many papers stacked on his desk?

"Taichou, maybe you should take a break." Matsumoto suggests idly. She's been subtly watching him ever since he came in and dropped down in his chair without a word.

How long has he been sitting here staing at the pattern ingrained in the wood on his desk without blinking?

"I c-can't, these need to be done," he says distractedly, not taking his gaze away to even look her in the eye.

"Taichou…"

Her voice is heavy with things that she wants to say but fears it not her place to, so she smiles- obviously forced.

"I can take care of these. I've done all of mine already. Why don't you go for a walk or something."

Toushirou finally looks up, unable to ignore the promise of freedom from this prison. Rangiku's eyes shift briefly to the side of the couch and he knows that is where her own work is hidden.

The gesture warms him though he keeps his appreciation to himself, instead, he nods in acceptance and barely manages to find his way to the door without tripping over his feet.

But… where… should he go?

He doesn't have to worry about running into the white haired captain so he has the luxury of being alone but he can't seem to dredge up an inkling of satisfaction.

Though his walk is calm and steady, he stumbles inwardly over the jagged lines and uneven pathways called confusion.

He finds a quiet place, and rests under a shaded area with his arms folded. He is strangely out of breath as if he'd been running.

With a resigned sigh, he thinks that he may has indeed been running, although in a different sense.

He cannot remember ever being so baffled. He is Hitsugaya Toushirou, the knower of all things.

Except ... how to follow his heart, apparently.

How long can he run?

How long can he fight the feeling?

How long can he pretend that his body isn't aching for the warm hands to hold him again? For petal soft lips to press against his? For the lithe body's ability to make his body ache and tremble, and crave something he never knew?

The answer is very simple, for the knower of all things.

He cannot pretend any longer.

Summoning a Hell butterfly, he sends a quick message to his fukutaicho, very glad that she isn't here to see his flushed face when he asks that she pick up a gift for a _friend._

All of a sudden, he can hardly breathe, the smell of oak is stifling.

When the sky is a sea of orange and red, Matsumoto finally finds him, her hands filled with various bags. Toushirou tries not notice; he can already feel his left eye twitching in annoyance.

"I'm back, taicho," he chirps sweetly, crushing his head into her chest in a hug.

"I see that. Did you get the- what I sent you for?"

She lets go of him and rummages through her many bags. Toushirou wonders if it was a poor idea allowing her to get something so important.

_When did it become important?!  
_  
"Ah, here it is. The man at the shop said it was a caster-something. Oh, a Custard Cream."

The slice of buttery cake with swirled icing and a red cheery on top sits delightfully in a small plate with a round, glass cover. It is a wonder it's survived among the plethora of items no doubt packed together.

"Good luck, taicho," she whispers knowingly with a wink that he deliberately ignores.

He leaves her in a flash, half excited half scared to death. He's never done anything like this in his entire life.

What will he say to the man?

An apology, of course, for his behavior this morning, but then what?

His throat threatens to close in on him and he stops just outside the 11th squad, panting and clutching at his chest to see if his heart is still working.

Luckily it is, but to his dismay his feet have stopped entirely.

What unexplainable behavior.

Is he sick?

Throbbing heart, sluggish legs, sweating profusely, swollen tongue.

In the moonlight, one could almost mistake the tug of his lips for a smile.

But that is preposterous. He's just sick, and the apparent cure is only a few steps away.

Ever so quietly, he walks along the outside, reiatsu pulled in tightly; keeping an eye on the door that is slightly ajar. The breeze ruffles the cherry blossom trees, sending the swirling and cascading away.

The pinkness has no effect on him now.

"Juushirou-chan, I came as soon as I heard. You should have told me." The deep voice startles him and he stops abruptly, balancing on one foot trying not to drop the cake in his hand.

His eyes are frozen wide, the voice is familiar. A pink haori and straw hat comes to mind.

A nervous laugh comes from inside. "I didn't want to bother you with something so trivial."

Now, Toushirou doesn't condone eaves-dropping in any way. He scolds Matsumoto heavily when she does it and generally just finds it in poor taste, but he is sick, and for just this once, he will abandon all reason.

Green eyes look through the gap in the door and his stomach fell right through him at the sight.

"Nonsense, Juu. It isn't trivial to me."

They smile at each other. His goofy smile!

Way too long.

Way to deep.

He tries not to, but the sickness had heightened his senses, and he can see the meaning within the looks they exchange.

And then, Kyoraku- taicho takes off his hat and lowers his head to Juushirou's.

There is a loud, ear-splitting crash, that shakes the very ground. But it doesn't disturb the two men.

Maybe because it is coming from his head.

And like crystal and glass and all fragile and delicate things finely crafted - made to be admired from afar and left untouched because of their breakable nature - he shattered.

Thousands of tiny pieces crumbling and falling to the ground, reflecting the moonlight and scattering away.

**  
What will poor Toushi do? Why am I so cruel _**


End file.
